A Planet Of Warriors
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #16 When Spock retreats to Mount Seleya, his daughter T'Beth joins some discontented Vulcan youths and runs afoul of the law.
1. Chapter 1

The lowering Vulcan sun cast a reddish pall over the living room, not quite reaching the piano in the far corner, or the dark haired girl slumped before it. Shadows marked her willful face as she silently fingered the keyboard of the old Steinway. "I've made up my mind," she declared. "Maybe you can force me to keep seeing her, but I'll just sit there and not say anything."

Amanda stirred in her chair and turned tiredly from the window overlooking her front garden. The lush growth of native and off-world plants usually brought her an illusion of coolness, but today even they were wilted. It had been a hot summer in a notoriously hot land, yet she had not complained at having to stay in ShiKahr instead of escaping to the milder weather in Pashir. This was where T'Beth needed to be. They were lucky to have found a human expert in psychology working at a hospital in nearby ShanaiKahr. They were even luckier that she was a woman and willing to commute twice a week in this inferno to treat an increasingly uncooperative teenager.

"T'Beth," she said with studied patience, "Miriam Yost is an excellent psychologist. You should be grateful that she's giving up her valuable free time to come here and—"

"Father's paying her," T'Beth cut in sourly.

"Yes." Amanda's voice was brittle. "He is. All the more reason for you to make an effort, to give Mrs. Yost—and yourself—a decent chance."

Scowling, T'Beth said, "All she ever wants me to do is talk about what happened, over and over and over. It's embarrassing, I hate it."

"I know," sighed Amanda. It embarrassed her, too, and angered her to think of what the Klingons had done to her granddaughter, and her son. T'Beth, especially, would never be the same. She did not have Spock's maturity or his Vulcan reserve of strength. The brutal loss of innocence had left her moody and difficult even for a human to live with. Poor Sarek was finding the situation almost intolerable. "I know," she repeated gently, "but don't you see, dear, the fact that you have such strong feelings shows how much you really do need to talk about it."

Apparently T'Beth did _not_ see. Slamming the lid on the piano, she jumped up and stalked down the hallway. The discordant thrum of the piano strings faded into an uneasy silence.

oooo

It was almost dark now, as dark as it was likely to be tonight, with T'Khut on the rise. Already the angry glow of Vulcan's sister planet flooded T'Beth's room. Soon Gram would be knocking at her door with orders to get presentable. Soon Miriam would be flying in like a witch in her skimmer.

On her bed, T'Beth hugged Mister and gently smoothed the golden fur under his raincoat. "So what are we going to do?" she whispered. "Father's still up on Seleya, and Gram doesn't listen anymore. They don't understand. They don't know how I feel when that woman digs at me—or else they just don't care."

Propping the bear on her knees, she gazed into his sad glassy eyes and was comforted. That's what she liked about Mister. He always listened, he always cared. Family could be disappointing and friends drifted away, but not Mister, never him. Hard to believe he was hand-chosen by Spock. Father must have been out of his Vulcan mind to give her a teddy bear for Christmas, and a cute one at that. She had once asked him why, pointblank. After some hesitation he had fallen back on the standard Vulcan line, _It somehow seemed logical at the time._ An answer that was really no answer at all. An evasion. Her own father would not open up to her, yet he expected her to open up to a stranger? T'Beth seethed with the unfairness of it. Aloud she said, "Mister, your daddy can be such a pain in the—" She fell silent at the tapping on her door. Right on schedule.

"T'Beth," Gram called, "are you in there?"

"Yes," she answered woodenly.

"It's almost time." There was a pause. "Try to understand, dear, how important this is for your recovery."

T'Beth bristled at her grandmother's choice of words. It made it sound as if the Klingons had given her some shameful kind of disease. Well, they hadn't—she'd been checked for _that._ Tears threatened her shaky composure, but she had no intention of going red-eyed and submissive to Miriam. Tonight she had no intention of going to Miriam Yost at all.

Setting her jaw, she tucked the teddy bear safely into bed. She climbed atop her desk and opened one of the high Vulcan windows. Hot air rushed in as she squeezed her slender body through the aperture. She knew she would fit. Her feet landed softly, expertly, in the moist sand of the tomato garden and there was the now-familiar thrill of danger and excitement. This time, of course, they would discover that she was missing and how it came about. But with Father away, she was not likely to be punished. These days a show of tears or anger would back down even Sarek. Everyone here was so afraid of further damaging her delicate psyche. Out on the street it was different.

Anxious to be on her way, T'Beth moved stealthily through the garden and slipped out the front gate. Though it was not yet late, the carefully manicured streets of ShiKahr were all but deserted. It was a small town and the typical Vulcan's nightlife revolved around home and family, or solitary pursuits. If there were any here who contemplated a different sort of existence, they kept their opinions to themselves or risked receiving the ruinous brand of "renegade". The Golheni were a prime example. Until recently T'Beth had thought those throwbacks were the only Vulcans who toyed with such a heretical notion as violence.

The orange face of T'Khut rose ponderously, a silent watcher as T'Beth made her way through the maze of deceptively peaceful streets. It was not far to the gathering place now. She turned one last corner and nearly bumped into an attractive Vulcan girl. T'Jhur's velvet eyes flickered with recognition.

T'Beth had met T'Jhur one day while serving a school detention for truancy. Ever since, T'Jhur and her unconventional companions had actively cultivated her friendship. It was the first overture T'Beth had received from any Vulcan.

"Good, you are early," T'Jhur said, not quite keeping the excitement from her voice. "There is word of a convergence in the hills tonight. It is what we have awaited. The temple will be deserted."

T'Beth's heart sped as she followed T'Jhur into a deeply shadowed area between two buildings. Her eyesight was not as keen as that of her Vulcan companion. Twice she stumbled and she was almost touching the skimmer before she saw it, and the two youths standing guard.

"The saws are loaded." Soldac's adolescent voice broke the hot evening silence. "We must hurry. No one must suspect."

T'Beth hung back, afraid to ask how the merchant's son had gotten his hands on a skimmer and cutting tools. The idea of theft bothered her. She had to remind herself that the end sometimes justified the means, especially when the end promised to be one hell of a lot of fun.

Apparently Samar had no qualms, even though his own father was a secret follower of Golheni. "T'Beth, are you coming?" he asked, his black eyes sparked with determination. At sixteen he was the oldest of the group and nearly as tall as a man. These past weeks he, more than any of the others, had given her a feeling of acceptance that she sorely needed. She didn't want to disappoint him, but…

"Samar," she said in Vulcan, "if your father finds out…"

"Or yours," he countered. He didn't say Spock's name, or Sarek's, or remind her that unlike his family, hers was of the house of Surak and generally well respected. It would not have mattered if he did. They all knew this expedition could land them in serious trouble. But now that they had come this far, there was no way to back down gracefully, even if T'Beth had truly wanted to. Screwing up her courage, she climbed with her co-conspirators into the skimmer.

"To Golheni," said Soldac, taking the controls.

It was a long quiet ride out into the desert. Golheni Temple lay beyond the safebelt, a distant exile from the sane, logical world that modern Vulcans had created for themselves. Though it was not often discussed in polite society, there were temple devotees who still frequented the ruins and certain caverns in the black hills. At times known only to themselves, they came together and roasted meat and reveled, dreaming of a day when Yatara would once again be a planet of warriors. And all the while peace-loving Vulcan tolerated this cancer in its midst.

 _We have become so civilized,_ T'Jhur was fond of saying, _that we are in danger of washing into the sand at the first heavy rainfall._ She considered herself a counterrevolutionary, but sometimes T'Beth suspected that T'Jhur's motives were really quite personal and not at all idealistic. She was a strange girl, hard to know even for a Vulcan. Her intensity could be downright frightening.

As they skimmed over the desolate landscape, it occurred to T'Beth that there was really nothing beautiful or noble about any of them. Just four malcontents out looking for a thrill—but it sure beat another session with Miriam. And besides, no one would ever find out. They would make darn sure of that.

They landed on a low hill overlooking the temple ruins. As T'Beth jumped out, Samar thrust a laser saw into her hands and arranged the carrying strap over her shoulder. The saw's weight rested against her hip as he explained its operation. She felt herself starting to sweat.

It was a short hike down, with plenty of cover, but every footfall seemed loud in the desert night. The orange glow of T'Khut glinted off the saws and cast monstrous body shadows. Her heart pounding, T'Beth fell in behind a rock pile with T'Jhur.

"They'll see us," T'Beth whispered, more fearful of encountering a fierce Golheni than any flesh-eating plant or animal here beyond the safebelt.

T'Jhur's eyes gleamed eerily as she scanned the leaning walls of the ruins. "No one is there. They are all in the hills tonight."

All was silent on the desert. All was still.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, T'Beth stood on shaky legs and moved forward with the others. At the gateway she hesitated, and holding her breath, dodged through. She squeezed herself flat against the courtyard wall…and stared. Some part of her mind registered Samar's encouraging touch, but she gave no response. She only knew that she had no business being here, that it was a mistake, a big one. She did not belong in this hideous world of gargoyles and bone-strewn fire pits and stone carvings straight out of hell.

But this, too, was part of Vulcan. Bloody battles, torture, rape—nightmarish scenes of a past that most modern Vulcans viewed with shame, scenes that were still far too commonplace in other parts of the galaxy. Vulcan brutality, Klingon depravity—desert bred or damp as a forest, the ugliness was the same. Cold, wicked, cunning. _You are mine, do you hear, pretty girl? If you want him alive you will do what I say, just do what I say or—_

T'Beth's mind cleared. Leaning against the wall, she fought down a wave of nausea. Soldac gave the all-clear signal. The three Vulcans smoothly detached themselves from the shadows, like saturnine images come to life. Light pulsed from T'Jhur's saw. There was a hot popping sound, and a long-eared gargoyle fell into the sand. Soldac and Samar began to rip at the wall carvings. A satisfying scent of hot stone drifted through the courtyard.

With trembling hands T'Beth gripped her saw and approached a particularly menacing gargoyle at the rim of the main fire pit. In the hellish glow of T'Khut its distorted features appeared almost Klingon. A burst of light from her saw sliced across the ancient face, showering her in warm stone chips. The evil was gone. It was easy. Relaxing a little, she smiled and decided she might actually enjoy this. Setting her jaw, she lopped off the head of the faceless imp and went on to another, and another. But that was as far as she got.

"Kroyka!" shouted a powerful voice. "Stop!"

T'Beth pivoted and saw a hooded man enter the courtyard from the inner temple. The man broke into a run. Her adrenaline pumping, she darted out the gateway, T'Jhur and the two boys on her heels. She had always been a good runner, but the high Vulcan gravity and thin atmosphere put her at a disadvantage. The three young Vulcans overtook her even before she reached the hill. Intent on saving their own skins, they leapt up the hillside leaving a treacherous wake of rolling pebbles.

Gasping for breath, T'Beth ran on and floundered and clawed her way after them. She could hear the Golheni gaining on her, hear his big feet moving on the rocks. She seemed to sense his primitive anger and knew that it would be nothing compared to the anger of her family if she were caught here red-handed. She glanced over her shoulder and his eyes flamed at her. Panicking, she scrabbled at the hillside with bleeding hands and kept on going. The others were already over the top, safe. They were leaving her behind. _Traitors!_

Tears sprang into her eyes. The Golheni was breathing down her neck, his long arm stretched out, his fingers clutching at the rocks beneath her heels. She kicked dirt into his face. He loosed a string of Vulcan curses, but kept coming. Another inch or two and he would have her. She was not going to make it, not unless—

T'Beth heard the whining sound of a skimmer in flight. Glancing up, she saw the craft cresting the hill, coming her way fast and low. It hovered to an abrupt stop just overhead. Four hands reached out to her, caught hold. She felt an inhuman strength lift her from the grasping hand of the Golheni, drag her into the cockpit. Then they were soaring off toward T'Khut.

oooo

It was a silent, shaken group that arrived back at ShiKahr and went their separate ways. T'Beth did not feel like talking, nor was she in any particular hurry to get home and face what awaited her there. She had disobeyed her grandmother. She had inconvenienced Miriam. There would be questions, many difficult questions. How could she answer them? How could she not lie?

At a community fountain she knelt and bathed her dirty face and sore hands, but there was only so much she could do. She looked as if she had been wallowing in a sandpit. Worse yet, she looked guilty. _But what for?_ It was high time someone stood up to the Golheni and gave them a taste of their own violent fantasies. People like Father shook their heads over the "unfortunate Golheni problem", but what did they ever do about it? At least she had done more than just talk.

The satisfying memory of shattered stone brought her to her feet and set her on the grim path toward home. It would be her secret. It would be easy. When news of the vandalism went public, she would put on her Vulcan face and show nothing more than polite interest. No one would ever suspect her part in it. Not even Sarek.

Now, to get back into the house. Usually she could creep in the back door and sneak to her bedroom without waking anyone. But tonight there were lights in the front windows. Gram and Sarek knew she was missing. They were still up, waiting for her.

Inwardly quaking, T'Beth cracked open the back door and slipped into the dark kitchen. It surprised her that it still smelled like dinner—she felt like she had been gone for days. The anxious rhythm of her breathing was the only sound as she tiptoed toward the hall door. Before she could reach it, the door swung open, revealing a male figure in silhouette.

She had not really expected to get past Sarek, but it would have been nice. Swallowing hard, she said, "Grandfather."

He turned on the kitchen lights. Gram moved in behind him, a silent accusing shadow. "My wife," Sarek said, his eyes hard on T'Beth. "Notify the authorities that she is back."

T'Beth felt the blood rush to her face. "You…you reported me missing?" Somehow she had not expected that.

Amanda left to make the call. Apparently Sarek did not think that his unruly granddaughter merited a reply. "You grow in age and stature," he said in a frosty voice, "yet you continue to behave like a child."

Biting down on her lip, T'Beth stayed quiet. _It'll all be over soon,_ she reminded herself. A scolding, a few hours of awkwardness, and then they would fall back into their old familiar patterns. Sarek, the lawmaker. Amanda, the peacemaker. T'Beth, the troublemaker.

"Even the patience of a Vulcan has its limits," he continued. "It is one thing to disturb your family, but your disappearance tonight affected Mrs. Yost."

 _And was mighty embarrassing for you,_ T'Beth mentally added, but of course he would never admit to that.

"You will see to it," he commanded, "that this does not happen again. If Mrs. Yost is so kind as to return, you will apologize to her and cooperate in every way."

T'Beth inclined her head in the Vulcan gesture of respect and compliance. "It shall be as you wish, Grandfather."

Her words had the desired effect of bringing the confrontation to a most welcome end. Released to her bedroom, T'Beth undressed and burrowed under the bedcovers, marveling at her incredible good fortune. She had not needed to lie. She had not even needed to sidestep the truth. No questions, no mention of punishment. Sarek had been that sure of her motivations. If only he hadn't reported her missing…

But perhaps her luck would hold. Maybe no one would connect her disappearance with the rubble at Golheni Temple. In the dark she held Mister and promised herself that if she just got out of this one mess, she'd never do anything so reckless again. Or at least the next time she would be more careful.

oooo

Morning dawned with a hint of unseasonable coolness. Eridani seemed slow in rising. Its crimson rays struggled against a thin band of clouds in the south. At long last, summer was relinquishing its harsh grip on the sun-baked land. Maybe, T'Beth mused, the clouds would stay around and build into an afternoon thunderstorm. Lightning, wind, rain—just the thing to break up some of the tension around here.

It was a relief when Sarek left for the capital. T'Beth helped Amanda around the house, hoping to coax her out of a tight-lipped mood, but it was no use. Weighed down with guilt, she sidled off to the front door.

"T'Beth!"

Startled by her grandmother's vehemence, she turned. "I'm just going out to—"

"You are not going anywhere." Amanda eyed her sternly. "My first pupil will be arriving in a few minutes. I want you to go into your room. I want you to stay there and think about the trouble you caused last night."

"But I _have_ thought about it," T'Beth answered back. "Gram, I'm sorry…"

"I'm not at all sure that you are." The stinging words were spoken more out of sadness than anger. Gram's manner gentled as she drew near. "I was young once, believe it or not, and very human."

T'Beth blushed and looked at the floor. "I _had_ to get away," she said miserably. "I told you how I felt, but you wouldn't listen."

"So instead of discussing those feelings with Miriam, you ran away."

T'Beth was saved from any further explanation by the door chime. Thankfully Gram's pupil was early. Amanda nodded toward the hall and T'Beth gladly escaped to the privacy of her bedroom. If things went well, Gram would be busy tutoring for hours.

But things were not fated to go well. Through the wall T'Beth heard a strange woman speaking in Vulcan. Although she could not quite make out the words, she sensed at once that something was very wrong. Her first gut-wrenching thought was for her father at Seleya, that he had suffered a setback, or worse. Then the front door closed and Gram came into the bedroom, and there was no mistaking the nature of the problem.

Amanda's sharp eyes appraised her for a long moment. "Last night," she announced levelly, "four young people vandalized the Golheni Temple."

Somehow T'Beth held her terrible gaze. Somehow she kept from squirming, or crying, or blurting out her part in the whole miserable business. It was, after all, just a piece of news. No one was accusing her of anything. Or were they?

"Oh," she said, tucking her scraped hands behind her. "How awful."

"Yes." Amanda stared at her for so long that T'Beth's control nearly cracked. Then, at last, came the question. "Where did you go after you left the house last night?"

T'Beth's mouth went dry as desert dust. Blood pounded in her ears as she fought a losing battle to keep her breathing measured, her voice calm. "You think it was me," she cried out, teary-eyed, "don't you? Every time something happens around here, I get blamed! You all hate me!"

"T'Beth," Gram admonished, her face suddenly pale. "You know that isn't true."

"Yes, it is!" Sobbing, T'Beth flung herself face down on the bed. "Just leave me alone, will you?"

There was a moment of pained silence, then Amanda's voice came to her, thick and strange-sounding. "T'Beth, I had to ask. A girl meeting your description was nearly captured outside the temple. You've been summoned for questioning by the local Council of Elders."

oooo

After her pupil left, Amanda retreated to the shade of her back garden and sat watching the clouds thicken overhead. How symbolic on this of all days, with the storm brewing in the midst of her family.

She could not get T'Beth's face out of her mind—so pathetically young and secretive. As always an eerie shadow of her father's face, a bittersweet reminder of other times, other heartaches. _Dear God,_ she wondered, _what if the child is as guilty as I suspect? What if she panics and throws another tantrum right in front of the council?_

Amanda's many years on Vulcan had taught her the uselessness of worry, but she could not help but fret over what effect all this would have on her husband, and her son. For months now she had watched T'Beth and her escapades driving a new wedge between Sarek and Spock. It was a hard Vulcan fact, but if T'Beth were not krenath, she would have been expelled from the house long ago. Surely Spock realized that. Surely he knew how T'Beth's consistent lack of discipline disrupted the family. Could he be using T'Beth to embarrass his father?

In the distance a silent streak of lightning flashed from cloud to cloud. Amanda sighed. She had been known to say that the Vulcan way was a better way, and perhaps it was true. Perhaps she was only tired…

"Gram?"

At the timid sound of T'Beth's voice, she turned and motioned the girl nearer. T'Beth slumped down beside her on the bench and rested her dark head against her shoulder. Moved, Amanda snugged a protective arm around her dispirited granddaughter. She didn't really want to give her up, but the child did not belong here on Vulcan.

"Please don't tell Father," T'Beth said just above a whisper. "I don't want him to be there. Promise me."

"I had no intention of disturbing his retreat," Amanda reassured her. "You're quite old enough to face the council alone—if that's what you want."

"Oh yes," T'Beth said with relief. "Yes, it is."

Thunder rumbled over the dusty city. The first fat, cooling raindrops spattered down as they sat watching the storm darken.

oooo

It rained steadily for three days. Under a leaden sky, ShiKahr lay drenched and silent, streets flowing with floodwater. T'Beth paused in the downpour and somberly looked about. Never, in all her time on Vulcan, had she seen such weather. It was like an eerie unfolding of T'Jhur's prophecy, with all of Vulcan washing into the sand.

With a shiver she slogged ahead to the council pavilion, a pair of her father's black Starfleet boots clumsy on her feet. There would be plenty of time to dry and polish them before Spock came home—if this next hour went well. And if it didn't, one pair of ruined boots could hardly increase her father's displeasure by much.

Dodging into a breezeway, she shook the water from her coat and threw back the hood, revealing her long dark hair. It was then that she saw Samar. The young Vulcan stood watching from a distance, his black eyes intent and his face without expression. Had he come to stand by her? Had he come to accept his share of the guilt?

"Samar," she mouthed hopefully.

He turned his back on her and walked away. The storm swallowed him.

Hurt and angry, T'Beth strode into the pavilion, to the hearing antechamber, and announced herself.

The receptionist looked up disapprovingly from his desk. "You are late."

"Yes," T'Beth snapped, "I am."

Ever so slightly the Vulcan's eyebrow crept upward. With a cool nod he indicated the hearing room door. T'Beth shoved open the heavy latch and passed through. Once inside, she stopped and tried to get a grip on her emotions. Nervously her eyes swept over the chamber with its crimson lamps and gleaming wood panels. The place reeked of polish and authority. Sitting at a high bench, three elders awaited her with grim faces. T'Beth's glance briefly touched each of them before moving to a lone man seated on her own level. _Father!_

The blood froze in her veins—but only for first horrid instant of recognition. Then anger set her heart pumping. _Damn Sarek! He just had to go and tell, didn't he?_

"T'Beth," intoned an elder, "daughter of Adrianna, daughter of Justrelle."

Red-faced, T'Beth took one shuffling step and faltered. _Oh, no! Father's boots!_

"Come forward," prompted the only male elder.

Numbly she moved closer and gazed up at the council triune. Minute by nightmarish minute the hearing progressed, each well-rehearsed answer rolling from her tongue with such convincing ease that she almost believed it herself. "Yes, I was at the temple. I admit that, but I was there only out of curiosity…with some friends. Well, yes, we heard the disturbance. At first we hid. I couldn't believe what those people were doing, and then when the man came running out. The tool? No, I never had any tool. There was so much confusion. Everyone was trying to get away. My friends and I ran up the hill to our skimmer. I think the vandals were somewhere behind us…"

There was an unnerving pause at the bench. Sick to her stomach, T'Beth watched the three elders confer in low tones, consult data links, shake their heads. She did not look at her father. She didn't dare.

At last one of the women leaned forward and fixed her with a soul-searing gaze. "We have but one final question, and I will remind you of the gravity of these proceedings before you venture to respond. T'Beth, daughter of Adrianna, daughter of Justrelle. Think now and think well. Is there any part of your testimony you wish to amend?"

"No," T'Beth choked out.

For the first time, her father spoke. "Kindly repeat that statement."

Eyes forward, T'Beth drew in a deep breath. "I have nothing to amend."

After the hearing Spock took her into his skimmer for the ride home. As they passed over the flood, T'Beth stared out the rain-spattered windshield, clenching and unclenching her icy hands. Why didn't her father say something? Why did he just sit there, silent and condemning? Why didn't he give her a chance?

At last she said, "You don't believe me. You're actually taking the word of a Golheni against your own daughter,"

She watched his fingers tighten over the steering control and her stomach twisted. _No,_ came the fierce thought, _he won't do this to me. I'm fifteen now. He won't make me squirm like a naughty little girl._ But what if he had looked into the Golheni's mind? What if all the elders had looked, too? What if they had seen the truth?

Spock brought his skimmer down on the estate drive and pulled into the bay. He sat for a moment with the engine off and the rain loud on the bay roof. Then looking at her, he said, "Lies. All lies. You defaced Golheni Temple. In fact, you quite enjoyed it."

T'Beth experienced another ripple of fear. There was no doubt at all in those dark penetrating eyes, or in that voice. Somehow Father knew. As if he had stood watching with T'Khut, he knew. There was no sense in lying now.

"Why?" he demanded.

With an insolent lift of her chin, she replied, "It somehow seemed logical at the time."

The planes of Spock's face became hard as Golheni stone. "That is not an acceptable answer."

"It's good enough for _you_ ," she spouted recklessly. "I've heard _you_ say it." Though Father did not offer any comment, T'Beth realized that she had better change her approach, and change it fast. "The followers of Golheni are dangerous fools. You've said _that,_ too."

"My beliefs have not led me into acts of criminal violence—or deceit."

"Criminal!" Her protest rang with sarcasm.

Spock stared her into silence. "You intentionally damaged an historical monument and lied to escape punishment. Those behaviors are no different what you decry in the Golheni."

T'Beth nearly stamped her foot in frustration. "Go ahead, call me a criminal! But if you were so sure I was guilty, why didn't you speak up before the council? Why didn't you accuse me then?"

Without answering, Spock stepped out of the skimmer. "Wait for me in my room," he ordered.

Scowling, T'Beth watched him leave the bay by the yard door and disappear into the storm. "Why didn't _you_ tell the council?" she demanded once again, knowing he could no longer hear. "To keep me from bringing more shame on the family?" Her voice caught, but somehow she forced out the aching words. "Did you ever think that maybe I feel the same way? Did you?"

oooo

All this waiting was probably meant to rattle her, but pacing the tiled floor of her father's room only made her more determined. The delay was just what she needed to bring her emotions back under control. Any advantage he had momentarily gained was gone now. She was more than ready for—

The door opened. Spock came in and flipped his rain-sodden cloak over a chair. Pulling off a shoulder bag, he wordlessly pressed it, strap and all, into T'Beth's hands. Its unexpected weight drove her arms down.

"What in the world…?" she wondered aloud.

Spock moved to his meditation alcove. There he silently waited beside the unlit attunement flame until T'Beth joined him.

"Father," she said, impatience creeping into her voice, "I don't think you're being fair."

"Open the pouch," he said.

Curious, she reached under the heavy flap. At the touch of cold metal, she looked down and felt the color draining from her face. The laser tool was almost identical to the one she used at Golheni Temple.

"You have some experience in its operation," Spock said. "I have adjusted for depth. You need only switch it on and take aim."

T'Beth glanced up in confusion and saw his hand calmly indicating his meditation stone. The thick slab of Seleyan granite had only recently been passed from Sarek to his son—an honor long overdue, and one that T'Beth suspected Sarek sometimes regretted. Sarek might be glad to have his son back alive, but the fleeting pang of sentiment was over now, and it was back to the same old family games. And more often than not, these days, she found herself right in the middle of the playing field.

T'Beth gaped at the smoothly polished stone, then at her father. "You can't mean it…"

"Go ahead," he urged. "Deface the stone, just as you slashed and gouged at Golheni Temple."

Her heart pounding, T'Beth looked down at the broad surface of the slab reverently used by Spock's family— _her_ family—for generations."

"You have such little regard for what others revere."

She shook her head. "No. I can't. I won't. This is crazy." Thrusting the saw away from her, she said, "You've made your point, Father."

Spock reached out and took the saw. To her horror, he switched it on. Its muted hum filled every corner of the room. "I will have made my point," he said, "only when this stone is marred."

"No!" she gasped. "Sarek would kill you! He'd kill us both!"

Spock seemed to seriously consider the possibility. "Most unlikely. Murder is virtually unknown on Vulcan. However, I am certain that Sarek will be quite distressed by the senseless damage—as distressed, I would say, as the Golheni over the vandalism of their temple."

With cool deliberation he aimed the firing tip at the stone's center. _Would he really do it?_ Panicking, T'Beth snatched at the saw and felt it discharge. There was a loud, sickening pop. Thin shards of granite flamed away and slammed into the wall. A curl of smoke rose from the hot stone.

Swallowing hard, T'Beth forced her eyes up. She found blood on her father's face, and a look of pain that had nothing to do with the small stone cut. Numbly she turned off the saw, took it from his hands, and lowered it to the floor by its strap. After a moment she rubbed her eyes and was surprised to find wetness there—not blood, but tears. "I shouldn't have grabbed it…" her voice wavered. "It didn't mean to—"

"And at Golheni?"

More questions. Always the wrong questions when she was so jammed full of answers that she wanted to scream. _Why couldn't he see it? Why?_ Bitterly she cried, "You're never around when I need you! You never were!" The look of pain on his face deepened. _What was she saying? What was she thinking?_ The words just kept tumbling out. "You'd rather hire that Yost woman to analyze me, you'd rather take a saw to your father's stone than talk to me, _really_ talk to me! Why—am I that horrible? Am I that dirty?"

"T'Beth!" The name rasped from his throat. "You are confusing the issues. Calm yourself and—"

But she was already out the door.

oooo

Shutting herself in her room, T'Beth flopped onto the bed and clutched Mister as evening crept over the storm-lashed city. She could not bear the thought of Miriam tonight, not with Father here, not after when she had said to him. It didn't matter that her words had held some grain of truth—having voice them, she felt worse than ever. Lately it seemed she was always flying out of control and hurting the very people she loved most.

"Maybe they're right about me," she said to Mister. "Maybe I really _am_ sick, I really _do_ need Miriam's help."

It was more than the nightmares—deep down she knew it. And it was more than the outbursts, too. Long before adolescence, long before any Klingon laid a hand on her, she had felt a nameless pressure, a periodic seething of emotion that was difficult to control. It had only worsened after the things Torlath did to her in captivity… _Torlath with his knobby misshapen head, black rippling muscles on smooth bed furs._ _Come here little girl, don't cry now_. _Steely fingers holding her, moist dark lips curled back. Ah, such a good daughter, just do what I say and you will keep your father safe…_

T'Beth awoke with a start. Fierce gusts of wind hurled raindrops against the high windows. Sitting up in the dark, she read the glowing numbers of her bedside chronometer. It was past the scheduled time for Miriam's visit. Had it been canceled? Even stranger, it was past the dinner hour. T'Beth felt hungry. Why hadn't Gram called her?

With a pang, she remembered that Gram would not be back until late tonight. She was spending the evening at the home of an acquaintance, tutoring their sick son. T'Beth realized she was alone in the house with Spock and Sarek, and it was not a happy thought. After the day's events she did not feel like showing her face to either of them.

Did Sarek know yet? Had Father told him how she bluffed the council, that she was nothing but a vandal and a liar, after all? If Sarek questioned him, he would tell the truth. It was almost a weakness, that Vulcan obsession with total honesty. Even if her behavior reflected poorly on him, Father would acknowledge it and stoically accept whatever came. Heaven help both her and Father if Sarek found out about the meditation stone.

T'Beth turned on her bedside lamp and got up. The house was so still that it made her nervous. Maybe Father hadn't said anything to Sarek. Maybe they weren't even on speaking terms. She tiptoed to the door and cracked it open. A light was on in the main room. Above the sound of the storm she heard Sarek's deep voice, and ventured a few steps into the hallway. Scarcely breathing, she listened. Spock's response was all but lost to her, the words low and thick with suppressed emotion. _"Sydok"—_ she seemed to catch that much, but then it became clear that they were not discussing her Sy blood at all, but that Father had only spoken a similar-sounding name, the name of a disgraced family member who had run afoul of Vulcan ways. Father's mention of the relative had an incendiary effect on Sarek, and the conversation heated into a full-scale argument.

It might have been different if Gram were home. Surely Amanda would have intervened. Somehow she would have stopped this bitter outpouring between Father and son. Shivering in the hall, T'Beth listened to the sounds of their dispute filtering through the old house. Until tonight she had never heard Sarek raise his voice. Not that he could be accused of shouting, not quite that, but his words reached her nonetheless with dreadful clarity. The things he said to her father made her want to charge into the main room, but her cowardly legs refused to budge. Alone in the dark, she listened and let the tears flow.

Twice Spock answered back in words she could not quite understand. And then silence. Terrible silence. T'Beth held her breath, straining to hear more. But the voices were at an end for tonight, perhaps for all time between those two. And it was all her fault.

Numbly she retreated to her room. Sarek's footsteps went by and continued into his study. Long minutes passed as she huddled, frightened, near her door. _What was happening? Where was Father?_ With all her heart, she wanted to tell him she was sorry, she had never meant for this to happen. But sinkingly she knew that no mere words could ever make up for all the trouble she had caused.

She heard the clock chime in the hall. It was getting late. Soon Gram would be home, and still no sound of Father anywhere in the house. Gathering her courage, T'Beth sneaked out to his bedroom door and quietly knocked. No one answered. Her hand was reaching to open it when a small noise startled her. Whirling, she found Sarek's imposing figure in the shadows of the hall.

"Your father is gone," he announced, his craggy features cold and impervious as stone.

The strap of fear tightened around her chest. "W…where is he?" she managed to force out.

"That is no longer any concern of mine," Sarek answered in a leaden voice.

A trembling began deep inside T'Beth and quickly worked its way through her entire body. Her eyes began to sting and vision blurred with unstoppable tears. This was the only home she knew, the only family she had left, and it was falling apart. "Grandfather," she choked out, " _please…"_

Sarek looked at her coldly, then turned and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

At the foot of Mount Seleya, light glimmered from the rain-washed ports of a Klingon fighter. Inside, seated alone in his makeshift office, Jim Kirk stifled a yawn and rubbed at his eyes. Because of Vulcan's heat, he and his crew worked on the ship at night and slept by day in the visitor's area of the temple complex. He had never been good at sleeping days. Knowing that the sun was shining made him want to get up and join the world. Maybe Bones could prescribe something for insomnia. Those little red pills he used to peddle on the Enterprise, back when there _was_ a starship Enterprise.

Sighing, Kirk thought for the umpteenth time of going back to Earth, of court martial, of conviction and what lay beyond…

The tap at his cabin door came as a pleasant relief. Hopefully, he called out, "Bones?"

"No," answered a very young, decidedly female voice. "It's me. T'Beth."

 _T'Beth? Was Spock with her?_ Kirk leapt up, sending his rickety chair flying. Muttering, he picked up the chair, only to discover that it had lost a leg.

"Admiral? Are you alright?"

"Yes, come on in," he called, propping the chair with a stack of boxes. He was still fumbling with the arrangement when Spock's daughter walked in, storm-swept and hesitant. Timidly she watched him finish the balancing act.

"You're busy," she said unhappily. "I shouldn't have bothered you."

"No." Kirk straightened and shook his head. "No, really. I was just sitting here in this Klingon pile of …junk…wishing for some company."

Silently T'Beth slipped from her rain-drenched coat, and sitting down amid the clutter, wiped her face dry with her shirtsleeve. With a start, Kirk realized she had been crying. Something was terribly wrong. Why else would she show up in the middle of the night? He had a really bad feeling about this. "I thought I might have heard a skimmer," he ventured. "Where's Spock?"

"I came alone," she admitted.

His jaw dropped. "Don't tell me _you_ flew in this weather."

She gave him a tremulous smile. "My first solo…and probably my last when Sarek finds out. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore."

T'Beth had always been a handful, but since her captivity among the Klingons she had been prone to even more erratic behavior. Fearing the worst, Kirk said, "You ran away?"

She bowed her dark head and hugged her arms tightly. "I did some incredibly stupid things. Sarek and Father got into a fight. I…I had to get out of there."

"A _fight_?"

"An argument. A horrible argument." In a halting voice she described her escapade at Golheni Temple, the hearing earlier that day, and Spock's unexpected appearance. Tears streamed down her face as she told what happened later, at home.

Kirk dropped to one knee in front of her. Gently gripping her hands, he searched the liquid depths of her eyes—Spock's eyes with thick lashes. "Sarek must have been pretty angry." He knew what an angry Vulcan looked like. He had seen Spock furious a time or two and they were not pleasant memories.

"It was awful," she cried. "I shouldn't have listened. I didn't want to."

"You couldn't help yourself," Kirk said sensibly. "There's something paralyzing about a family argument. You don't want to listen, but you have to. I think it's some sort of natural law, like Murphy's."

T'Beth managed a weak smile. Kirk held his arms open and snuggled into his embrace. How many times since her rescue had he held her and brushed away her tears? How often had he shown a determined tenderness while she flailed bitterly at the unfairness of life? He thought back to the walks through ShiKahr's greenbelt, the conversations, the picnics. When had she ceased being just a pesky little kid? On what day? At which hour? Maybe it had something to do with losing his own child. Maybe it was the pain of David's death that made him see Spock's daughter in such a different light.

Kirk felt her move against him and she said, "I have to find Father."

"He's probably back on the mountain."

"I have to tell him—"

"Not tonight, kiddo. You can stay here."

She raised her head and looked at him, grim-faced. "I don't want to drag you into the middle of this."

 _How things have changed,_ he thought with a wry smile. Lightly, affectionately, he touched her on the cheek, and then stood. "C'mon, you can get something to eat and lie down in the sleeper cabin."

"But Jim—"

"Come _on_ ," he repeated firmly. To his relief she nodded and followed him into the corridor.

Later Kirk woke from a light doze. He had nodded off in his chair, and the price was a sore neck. Rubbing at the cramped muscles, he got up and left the office. With mixed feelings he realized that the rain had finally eased. Now work on the ship would speed up. Before long they would have to reach a decision on their future.

He climbed down the hatchway ladder into the cool dawn air. The few clouds remaining in the sky were tinted crimson and orange by Eridani's flaming approach. His eyes swept over them and settled inevitably on the rain-washed slopes of Mount Seleya. A still figure in white gazed down from a pathway high up the mountainside. Even at that distance Kirk felt the warm tug of recognition. He was about to raise an arm in greeting when the lone figure walked away.

Kirk turned and found T'Beth watching wide-eyed from the hatchway.

"That was Father," she said, "wasn't it?"

Kirk nodded.

"You're hoping he'll leave with you."

Kirk could not deny it. What had Vulcan ever done for Spock, beside the fal-tor-pan? And even that had plenty of strings attached. Spock was spending so much time with the priests who revived him that Kirk sometimes feared he would join the temple permanently. But Spock didn't belong in a temple. He belonged in Space. And now he had a daughter to consider.

"Don't worry," Kirk said, "I won't pressure him. There's too much of that going on, already."

T'Beth turned so he would not see her face cloud, and walked behind the ship. Kirk's words made her feel guiltier than ever. If there was too much pressure on Father, she was right at the heart of it. He had looked so remote on the mountainside, a cloud creature belonging to another reality. How could she meet him up there? How could she violate the peace of Seleya?

Kirk came up behind her and asked, "Do still want to go see him?"

She turned. "Not now," she said, half expecting a hassle, "not yet."

Kirk merely nodded. "I…talked to your grandmother last night."

T'Beth looked at him, her heart pounding.

"I had to," he said, eyes gentle with an apology she didn't want to accept. "You know that."

"Sure." Setting her jaw, she glowered at the sand. "So what's going to happen now?"

"She'll be coming for you and the skimmer in a few days. Until then you stay here."

Not "until then you're _welcome_ to stay here" or "you can stay here if you _like"_ , but _"you stay here"._ He made it sound like an order and she had never been very good at taking orders from Admiral Kirk. Hurt and angry, she started for the skimmer waiting to take her out of here. Jim must have had an inkling of what was on her mind. Moving fast, his strong hands caught her.

"Oh, no you don't," he said, holding on tight.

For some reason she didn't struggle. She did not understand why her anger melted at his touch, why suddenly it didn't seem like such a bad thing to stay here and even take an order or two from this man.

"T'Beth." His voice was firm but gentle. "You're not a little girl anymore. You can't keep running away."

Confused, fighting a blush, she lowered her eyes.

His grip relaxed. He let go of her, but they were still standing very close. "Promise me you'll stay put," he said.

The words took her by surprise. She was not sure of exactly when, but some time ago her family had stopped extracting promises from her. What good was the word of a convicted liar? Looking into Jim's eyes, she promised.

oooo

Time passed slowly on Mount Seleya. With the storm gone, Eridani soon steamed every wisp of precious moisture from the desert sand. Early each evening T'Khut rose pale and pockmarked, seeming to peer down with disapproval at the strange knot of activity surrounding the Klingon ship.

Now and then T'Beth paused to glower back at her. Then she would continue on, drifting from person to person, doing what little she could to help. Everyone was kind, but preoccupied. Even her old friend McCoy had little time for her. Only her promise to Jim kept her from the skimmer when night fell, plunging the barren land and her heart into darkness. Eventually she went to bed. Alone on her bunk she tossed, haunted by the past, fearful for the uncertain future. Her arms ached with secret yearning for Mister.

 _He's only a toy,_ she thought with shame. Like Jim had said—she wasn't a little girl anymore. At fifteen, she shouldn't need that childish kind of security, especially on Vulcan where that sort of plaything was looked upon with disdain.

But Father himself had given her the bear. He had recognized that she wasn't like Vulcan youths, that she was different. _And what,_ she wondered uneasily, _does he think of that difference now?_ Giving up on sleep, she went out into the corridor and listened to the voices of the crew as they worked in the control cabin. Unnoticed, she climbed down the ladder into the cool night. Floodlights illuminated the area where a pair of Vulcans were repairing the exterior of the ship. They said nothing to her as she moved beyond the light, toward an ancient stairway cut into the mountainside.

oooo

It was not yet dawn on Seleya. T'Khut had sunk below the horizon, leaving the sky as black and brilliant as a moonless night on Earth. Glimmering stars beckoned to Spock from a window carved in the granite wall near his bed. Twice in the night he had been awakened by dreams of Earth. Ocean waves lapping at his bare feet, warm yellow sunshine, a woman's contented laughter. In his dreams he rarely saw her face, yet every enchanting detail of her features, of her mannerisms, had become increasingly vivid in memory. There was so much that he remembered now.

Restless, he rose from bed and put on the cream colored robe of a Seleya initiate. More images from the past crowded in on him as he walked the silence catacombs and emerged into the chill air of predawn. For a moment he stood, indecisive, gazing toward the cliff where a switch-backing trail led down to the Bird-of-Prey.

Spock thought of Admiral Kirk and the other humans there. Would they return to Earth and face the charges brought against them? For his sake they had broken laws and acted against regulations. For his sake they had risked everything, including their lives. Was it not proper that he return with them and offer his support? Even Sarek was committed to argue on their behalf.

The thought of his father brought a fresh surge of pain. He could not help but wonder if his sudden concern with Kirk's dilemma was just a way of escaping the problems here on Vulcan. If only he could be certain of his reasoning. If only he did not feel pulled in so many directions. And then he wished, _if only I did not feel._

But wishing was not logical, and simple honesty forced Spock to reconsider his passing wish. Sometimes the emotions that came over him were quite pleasant, like the woman-in-the-dream feelings, and the persistent feelings of friendship that drew him to the cliff trail. He would not really want to give those up, even if it meant ridding himself once and for all of every negative emotion.

Sighing, Spock turned from the cliff—and froze. T'Beth stood in the shadows before him. He had seen his daughter down on the plain with Kirk, but he had not thought she would stray into this restricted area and seek him out. Not after her hostile words in ShiKahr.

"Come over by the cliff," he said in a quiet voice. This was a private matter, and he preferred that it remain so.

She followed him. The first hint of morning light glistened in her eyes as she unexpectedly said, "I…I want to go to Earth."

Spock's eyebrow climbed, but he remained silent.

"I don't belong here," she continued on the verge of tears. "All this stinking heat…and dust…and sand."

"Ah yes," Spock said, "the climate." He knew full well that Vulcan's weather was not the real problem.

Sniffling, T'Beth wiped at her eyes and hung her head. An anguished stream of words tumbled out. "I can't stay with Grandfather—not after what happened, not after what he said to you."

Spock felt the blood rush to his face. So the sounds of the argument had reached T'Beth's ears. Perhaps she had even confronted Sarek on her own.

"It's all my fault," her voice quavered. "I wanted to tell him that, I wanted to make him stop…but I was too afraid." Moving nearer, she placed her hand on the wide sleeve of his robe and rested her head on his shoulder. "Grandfather was wrong. He's wrong about both of us, I'll show him."

A single sweet note of a gong announced the coming day. Soon other occupants of the compound would be moving about. Some might already be looking down from their windows, observing this intimate scene. Uncomfortable with the thought, Spock gently, inconspicuously extricated himself from his daughter's embrace.

"You have run away," he surmised. Sarek was too proper a Vulcan to have expelled her, still legally a child, and krenath. It would only have created a worse scandal.

T'Beth's gaze briefly dropped in shamed acknowledgement. "I was looking for you. There were things I had to say…things I wanted to make right. I'm _sorry_ …" Her young face grew intense. "Father, _please_ take me with you. Jim won't mind."

Spock was momentarily taken aback. He had not yet decided on the course of his own future, let alone the future of this tempestuous child. There would have to be much thought and many arrangements. And even if it could all be somehow accomplished in the space of a few days, T'Beth could not travel to Earth aboard a Klingon fighter, among a crew branded as criminal fugitives. It was too dangerous. It was not seemly.

"No," he said at last.

"But why not?" she shot back too loudly.

Spock kept his voice very low. "It is not a matter to be decided in haste. Whether or not I choose to accompany Kirk, for now you must remain here with your grandparents."

T'Beth's mouth twitched with disappointment. There was a sound of footsteps and a young woman appeared at their side. Spock recognized T'Annel, healer and student of the priestess T'Lar.

"Spock," she greeted him, politely inclining her head. "T'Lar will speak with you in her chamber."

The high priestess T'Lar had been the guiding force in Spock's mental recovery. As a venerable elder of his own clan, she was also privy to many personal family concerns. She held the lifelong right to intervene in his affairs, to advise or rebuke as she saw fit. Every time she summoned him, he could not help anticipating trouble. Yet it would not have occurred to him to refuse her. Carefully composing himself he bowed his compliance. When he looked up, T'Beth was gone.

oooo

T'Beth hurried down the trail, her teeth clenched. All she had wanted was for him to hold her, to tell her everything was forgiven, everything would be alright. All she had wanted was for them to be together like a real family. But no—there was always something, always someone standing in the way. Starfleet, priests, Vulcan propriety.

It had stung when Father pulled away from her, all the more because she wasn't supposed to have noticed that oh-so-typical maneuver. She was supposed to be stupid—but she _wasn't_ stupid. Oh no, she had him figured out. After everything that had happened in their lives, he was still more concerned with keeping up appearances than with how she felt. Never mind if sending her back to ShiKahr broke her heart. It was "not a matter to be decided in haste". In other words, he needed to think about how it would look. And meanwhile ShiKahr would be a convenient little punishment—for both her and her imperious grandfather. _Let the games resume…_

oooo

T'Lar's words were a blow to Spock. He had thought he was making good progress. He could not detect in himself any lingering elements of Doctor McCoy's psyche; he could not sense anything amiss. Yet T'Lar assured him that the latest findings were indisputable. Without more transfer sessions, McCoy would become mentally crippled.

Though Spock disliked the sessions, he would not show T'Lar how deeply the mental intrusion bothered him. He entered the facilitation room with a fierce show of control, and awaited the inevitable. Two polished slabs of granite sparkled in the dim light. Across the room a curtain parted and T'Lar entered with McCoy. The doctor looked at Spock nervously, the lines in his face etched deep by fatigue. The separation process had been hard on McCoy, almost as difficult as carrying Spock's katra. How much more could he withstand?

McCoy's eyes sought a response from him. Spock nodded encouragement. Then T'Lar beckoned to the doctor. Turning away, Spock lay on a granite slab and did what he could to compose his mind. The more he cooperated, the sooner the invasive process would be over—for both of them.

Each morning Spock left the facilitation room with a healthy looking stride, only to collapse in the privacy of his chamber. Drained and discouraged, he lay on his bed fighting a series of raging headaches. It took longer than it should have to fully control the pain, but by afternoon he was back up, engaged in memory testing or receiving instruction in the disciplines.

On the morning of the third day, he returned to his room feeling worse than usual. Today Doctor McCoy had needed help just getting up from the stone. It was said that he sometimes fainted afterward. Spock stretched out on his bed, an arm shielding his eyes from the daylight. He did not notice the tap at his door, or hear someone quietly enter. Slowly the sense of another presence broke upon his dulled consciousness. He opened his eyes.

Amanda stood gazing at him, her face full of motherly affection and concern. He started to rise, but the fierce throbbing in his head convinced him to stay down. "You have come for T'Beth," he said, hoping right at the outset to steer the conversation away from himself…and Sarek.

"Yes." Amanda brought up her blue-veined hands and absently toyed with a book she carried. Abruptly she said, "Your father has left for Earth. He's scheduled to speak before the Federation Council on the matter of Genesis, and your shipmates' involvement." She paused, and then her voice softly admonished, "Surely you didn't argue with him…"

He turned his head aside.

"Spock, you of all people ought to know how intractable Sarek can be."

Still he avoided looking at her. Vaguely he remembered similar conversations in the past—awkward and rending, making him feel almost like a child. Steeling himself, he waited in silence for his mother to finish.

Amanda shook her head sadly. "I can't bear the thought of it starting all over again. Please, dear, try and make peace with him. Even if it means—" Her voice caught, and for a terrible moment Spock thought she was going to weep. To his relief she found the strength to compose herself. "Later," she said. "I can see you're not feeling well." She was almost to the door when she turned back and handed him her book. "Here, I've brought you something to read."

Spock looked at the volume with curiosity. The book was very fragile, its pages yellowed with age. _More poems._ Though he considered poetry archaic and illogical, his mother was set on exposing him to the medium, something she had not done in his childhood. She wanted him to appreciate "beauty, poetry, and laughter".

It was thoughtful of her to bring it, and he thanked her.

oooo

At sunset T'Beth sat in the hot sand beneath the ship's wing. There was a strong smell of paint from the letters freshly scrawled over the hull—"H.M.S. BOUNTY". What did it mean? A shipload of mutineers? It had been McCoy's idea. T'Beth had really been getting worried about him, and so had Jim, but now the transfer sessions were at an end.

Earlier she had watched the members of the crew straggle in for a night's work, had seen them vote on whether or not to return to Earth now that McCoy was free. Of course they were returning. She had never doubted it. Only instead of going with them, Gram was dragging her back to ShiKahr.

Overhead, the ladder creaked. Kirk climbed out and inspected a patch on the ship's hull. Sweat trickled down his neck and dampened the collar of his work shirt as he eyed the reinforced area.

T'Beth came up beside him. "I saw Father on the mountain again. He was watching you take the vote."

"Yes," Kirk said, his eyes on the ship. "I saw him, too."

She knew he was wondering what Spock would decide, just like her. Once, she would have felt it necessary to compete with him for her father's attention. Now the shared concern only made her feel closer to him. She thought of their trip to ShanaiKahr early this morning, when daylight halted work on the ship. There had been errands to run, and then breakfast at a restaurant in the port district. Sausage and eggs and warm conversation. How pleasant it had been just to sit together, how sad knowing it might be the last time.

A lump rose in her throat as she watched Kirk start back up the ladder. "Wait," she said. He stopped. Hanging onto a rung, he looked at her so expectantly that she could no longer hold back. The question had been preying on her mind for weeks. "Will they…will they put you in prison?"

A look of pain crossed his face. "I don't know. I suppose anything's possible."

"But you saved Father's life," she protested.

"And broke laws. I have to face up to that. I have to pay the penalty."

Kirk turned from her and continued up the ladder. She wanted to shout, _No, it_ _isn't fair!_ But there was a part of her that knew he was doing the right thing and could even admire him for it—a part of her that had not been very happy in a long while.

Slowly T'Khut rose and turned the night orange as T'Beth stood thinking.

oooo

"Look thee calmly upon undesired events…"

All afternoon the phrase from his mother's book of poetry kept playing through Spock's mind. He had not expected to find such a nugget of wisdom among the ancient verses. Now that the headaches were at an end, he could indeed look calmly and think clearly. One by one he examined his immediate problems and attempted to put them into perspective. Sarek, T'Beth, the imminent departure of his shipmates. Should he leave Vulcan or should he stay? Where did his first duty lie? Where was he most needed? What did he want for himself?

Now, as Spock sat alone under the night sky, a single point of light broke from the heavens. His eyes followed its brief descent. Intellectually he grasped the natural processes involved; his re-education in the sciences was nearly complete. Yet he also found himself emotionally captivated by the sight of the "shooting star". _Too much poetry, perhaps._

Impatient with himself, he rose and entered the testing chamber. For a time the three screens of the computer kept his mind occupied with their rapid questions, all of which he answered correctly. Then one of the screen images dissolved and reformed into Standard letters. "HOW DO YOU FEEL?"

Confused, Spock stared at the question. His eyebrows drew together in thought. "I do not understand," he replied.

The computer repeated the question. Now it was on all three screens.

He heard a faint rustle of fabric and glanced over his shoulder. Amanda stood in the doorway.

"What is it, Spock?"

"This is not a proper question," he said, indicating the frozen screens. "I do not know how to answer."

"You are half human." Crossing the room, she stopped beside him. "The computer knows that."

"The question is irrelevant."

"Is it?" Amanda put a hand on his shoulder. "Spock…the retraining of your mind has been in the Vulcan way. But you are my son. You have a human side, too. It will surface."

Spock found himself growing more and more uncomfortable with the conversation. "Mother—" he began.

Gently she cut him off. "I know the readjustment has been difficult for you, and I admit, I haven't always been helpful. Sometimes emotions have an unfortunate way of coming between people. But life without any emotion is even more isolating—and Spock, it is so barren."

Spock recognized the truth in his mother's words. He could recall a time in his life when he had tried to rid himself of every trace of emotion. After three grueling years he had abandoned the discipline of Kolinahr. Reacting emotionally, he had left Vulcan on a search that led him back to his Starfleet friends and taught him the value of positive emotions. And later they, in turn, had helped him. He stood here alive—a free man—because of his feeling human friends. Nor could he forget what they had done for T'Beth.

Though he was not certain of his logic, Spock looked at Amanda with a new firmness of purpose. "I will consider what you have said, Mother. But…I cannot wait here to do it."

"Where must you go?" she asked.

"To Earth. To offer testimony." He expected a string of protests. _Your place is on Vulcan. T'Beth needs a father. Now, more than ever, she needs your guidance._ All true.

Instead, Amanda touched his cheek. "You do this—for friendship?"

Mother knew they were his friends. Spock saw no need to state the obvious, but logically replied, "I do this because I was _there_."

Her hand dropped. She looked at him sadly, patiently. "Always so literal…but I think I do understand." And she added, "Spock, promise me one thing. When you're on Earth—take time out and go to Minneapolis. Pay your Aunt Doris a visit. There's something she wants to tell you."

Spock's eyebrow quirked. He had not seen Amanda's sister since he was a child, and relations then had not been particularly cordial. What could she possibly say to him? His curiosity was aroused. Whatever the outcome, he could endure an hour or two of awkwardness for his mother's sake.

"Very well," he said.

oooo

Morning dawned cool and cloudless on the plain beneath Seleya. Rising low on the horizon, Eridani set the sky aflame. The air was still, expectant.

A short distance from the Bounty, T'Beth waited, her keen ears intent on the sounds of final preparation inside the ship, her eyes scanning the mountain trail. Time was running short. She did not want to miss Father if he came—and Gram said he would be coming.

At first the news had rekindled her anger. Spock could go, but not her. Never her. No, she always had to stay behind. Full of resentment, she had spent all day and night actively avoiding her father. She had not wanted to talk to him, with his self-righteous, inflexible brand of Vulcan logic. He was always right, she was always wrong. They would only have argued. But with the morning had come a change in her feelings. Her heart ached as she said goodbye to Jim, and McCoy, and all the others who had shown her such kindness. She didn't trust the Klingon ship. What if they didn't make it to Earth? How could she watch her father leave without also wishing him well?

There was a movement on the desert. T'Beth looked hard and saw a robed figure approaching. Her heart beat wildly. It was him.

Spock crossed the last of the plain and stopped before her, his hands tucked into his wide sleeves, his dark eyes peaceful yet full of regret. "I _must_ go," he said. "There is no other way to help them…"

Her throat tightened. She wanted to beg one last time, _Take me with you, please take me along!_ But she knew his answer would be unchanged.

"Duty calls me to Earth," he said. "Surely you can understand that."

T'Beth remembered how it had felt when Samar abandoned her at the pavilion. Now Jim needed her father's support. She nodded miserably.

"For the time being," Spock continued, " _your_ duty lies here—an important duty to yourself, however unpleasant you may find it." He paused, and her eyes flashed rebellion. _Duty to herself?_ What did he know about her duty, her needs? Wasn't that for her to decide? "T'Beth-kam." His gentle voice commanded her attention. "At ShiKahr you asked why I did not accuse you before the council. What purpose would it have served? You had already incurred shame by answering dishonestly. We both knew that. But I hoped…that given time, you would see the harm you had done to others, and to yourself."

T'Beth's face colored, her gaze dropped. _So that was what this was all about._ He expected her to own up to her crime like Jim Kirk. And of course he was right. Didn't she admire Jim's integrity and courage? Raising her hands in surrender, she said, "Okay, I'll go back to the council. This time I'll tell them what I really did, the whole truth. But I still won't incriminate the others. They were _my_ friends _._ "

"I would not expect you to," Spock assured her.

Surprised, T'Beth looked up at her father. It was all she could do to keep her voice steady. "What will the elders do? What will happen to me?"

"You will be assigned a punishment suitable to your age and circumstance. Once you have served it out, we can review the matter of your living arrangement. Try and be patient. As you grow older you will learn that solutions have a curious way of presenting themselves at the proper moment." Nearby, Bounty's thrusters ignited with a jarring blast. The ship rattled and vibrated in preparation for liftoff.

"I'll miss you," T'Beth choked.

Spock looked deep into her eyes. Sliding a hand from his sleeve, he touched her cheek. The sense of his love was like a warm, enveloping blanket. Her arms reached out. Wordlessly she clutched him before hurrying away, face averted, so that he would not witness her tears. From somewhere behind her came the lonely sound of a hatch closing.


End file.
